


How to Disappear Completely

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-22
Updated: 2001-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Justin contemplates nonexistance.





	How to Disappear Completely

"Dude," Justin says when JC comes downstairs with a baseball bat, trying to look menacing and not-skinny, "I have a key, and I fucking know your security code. You couldn't have possibly thought I was robbing you." 

"Shut up," JC replies, his voice quiet. Justin shuts the door behind him and puts the security code back on, tapping at the keypad. Owlishly, Justin looks over his shoulder, and JC looks back, wearing silver pants. 

Justin walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, the sliver of light creating a menacing shadow over the room. "Jesus, JC," Justin says, crouching down, "do you ever eat? Like, shit, man. I'm gonna have to bake or something." 

JC shakes his head. "Whatever. I'm going back to bed." 

"Suit yourself," Justin replies, opening cupboards. Cookies, Justin is going to bake chocolate cookies, high as a fucking kite and he is going to bake delicious cookies. Shrugging out of his shirt and pants -- not silver, but black, like a raven and nine times as sexy -- he ties a white, lacy apron around his waist. 

When JC comes down again, Justin is taking the first batch out of the oven, meticulously poking them with toothpicks. What comes after that, he isn't quite sure, but he is so hungry, he thinks he should have just ate the dough. They smell divine. 

"What are you doing?" JC asks from the door. "What did you take?" 

Justin twitches. "I don't know, man. Like, something white." 

"Fuck," JC says, "go to bed." 

"But cookies," Justin gestures wildly at the oven, eyes blurred with tears as he sniffles uncontrollably. "Cookies, Josh," Justin repeats, standing half-naked in a white lacy apron and crying softly. "For you. Cookies." 

"Go watch tv," JC says, "I'll take care of the cookies." 

Justin smiles and hugs JC tightly, "thanks, man, you're my best friend." JC is thin and bony between his arms, but he's so warm, always like the sun, and Justin doesn't want to let go. "I made the cookies just for you." 

"I know," JC replies, "so go watch tv." 

Justin nods and walks to the couch, curling up in a ball as he watches MTV. He loves it almost as much as he hates it, all the music, some of it his, some of it isn't. Justin wonders, sometimes, if they really do suck and no one has told them. He worries about JC, who writes some of the songs and is really conscious of his critcism. 

When JC comes back in, he has a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk, trying to juggle everything and not let go. Justin looks up, blinking, and JC sits next to him. "Eat," he says, "they're good, Justin. Good cookies." 

"I'm glad," Justin replies, crying still because the room's spinning and he thinks maybe he took some bad shit. He feels so awful. When Britney's new video comes on, Justin cries harder, burying his face in the jungle of arms and knees pressed to his chest. 

JC sighs and touches Justin's back. "Justin?" 

"I'm so sad," he whispers and doesn't say anything else. 

~~~ 

When Justin wakes up, he feels warm but shitty. JC's lying next to him, wearing army fatigues instead of the silver pants, and Justin thinks maybe he was wearing them all along. The sun is bright, and it hurts his eyes. JC is awake. 

"Feeling better?" 

Justin blinks. "I guess." 

"Hungry? I'll make you something," JC says, cracking his back when he stretches. It's disgusting how skinny he's become, and Justin worries that someday he's going to disappear completely. "Justin?" 

Justin rolls over and lays his head on JC's chest. "Just stay here, with me, please." 

"All right," JC agrees, and they both relax. 

~~~ 

Justin's high again, walking through the streets by himself. He slipped by the bodyguards and he's all on his own, but he's heading straight to JC's house, the key already between his fingers. When he gets there, he stumbles inside and goes to the kitchen where JC's left a sandwich wrapped in plastic on the counter. 

That's so fucking _nice_ of him. Justin jumps up the stairs, bursting into JC's bedroom. JC's fresh from the shower and wearing nothing, and he looks a bit surprised at Justin's sudden entry, but Justin plows forward and grabs him in a huge hug, loving him. 

"You're my best friend," Justin whispers, "I love you." 

"I know," JC replies, "go watch tv." 

And Justin does, and cries again; he's still so sad. 

~~~ 

The next night, it's raining hard, and Justin's sober. After an hour long fight with Britney over the phone about nothing, he feels restless inside, so he's going to talk to JC, or eat his food, or watch his television. JC's the best fucking friend Justin's ever had. 

Justin slips into JC's house, and JC's in front of the television, wearing huge sweatpants, and he's so thin inside them that they make him look sick. Justin takes off his wet coat and flips his shoes from his feet before settling on the couch behind JC, cross-legged. 

"I hate this video," Justin says, seeing Britney on the screen, mostly naked, with a mostly naked guy, doing mostly naked things. "I hate it," Justin whispers, leaning forward and touching the back of JC's neck with cold fingers, and JC bats him away blindly. "JC?" 

JC looks up at the ceiling. "Yeah?" 

"Nothing," Justin says, "nothing." 

Justin closes his eyes and rubs JC's shoulders until JC pulls away, saying good night and disappearing into the dark. Justin falls asleep on JC's couch, hurting inside. 

~~~ 

Justin decides it's easier high, but he can't get drugs until Wednesday, so he drinks a lot and shows up at JC's door, drunk. He's forgotten his key. Justin rings the doorbell ten times quickly, but JC isn't answering. The door's remaining shut. Crouching down, curled in a ball, Justin is anguished and wants to cry. 

"Justin?" JC says, sleepy and rubbing his eyes, and Justin unfurls and hugs him, holds him, so tightly JC might break. Stepping back, JC brings him into the house, but Justin doesn't let go once the door slams. "You want to talk?" 

Justin nods and lets go, feeling young and stupid until JC takes him by the wrist and brings him into the living room, putting him down on the couch. The world is spinning fast, and Justin looks at the television, sees his girlfriend with another guy, in a make-believe world. 

"I hate that," Justin murmurs, and JC looks to the television, nods. Justin grunts because JC doesn't understand _why_ , doesn't see the reason for suffering, doesn't know why Justin martyrs himself. "I hate it." 

"Justin," JC says, softly. They've known each other for such a long time. 

Justin tilts his head, eyes meeting the quiet blue ones, and he lifts a hand to brush away, ever so gently, the hair in JC's eyes. JC watches quietly, leaning forward, and Justin looks away, his fingers falling away. Justin repeats, "I hate it," until it loses meaning, until it has no purpose anymore. They're such old friends. 

"Justin," JC says, "go to sleep." 

"Okay," he replies and walks to JC's bedroom, strips down before a protest and climbs under the sheets. It smells like flowers, like JC after a shower, and Justin's naked in the sweet-smelling sheets, shivering while the room dances around him. 

After awhile, JC slides in beside him, and Justin doesn't move, just lies there under the covers and waits for the dream to come. When sufficient time has passed, Justin twists and lays a hand over JC's belly. 

JC is fully dressed. 

~~~ 

Justin doesn't talk to JC for two weeks. By day four, JC is calling his house ten times a day, concerned and leaving messages like, "Justin, phone me back. We need to talk." And, "Justin, Justin, pick up. Justin? Fuck you. Pick up." 

But Justin just lies there and watches MTV until his head hurts. 

Justin really wishes he could fade away completely. 

~~~ 

Justin's mostly asleep when the door to his room opens, and he's mostly asleep when he lifts his head, disoriented. JC is standing there, wet from the rain, and Justin pulls the covers over his face, hiding. The bed sinks and JC is under the blankets, against Justin's body. 

"You should have told me," JC whispers. "You could have told me." 

Justin shakes his head and hates the touch, wants to say it was never what he wanted, but it is. Justin knows it, and so does JC, so they lie there until Justin falls back asleep, calm against the bare skin of his oldest friend. 

But JC is gone in the morning. 

He's left a half-empty bottle of brandy behind. 

~~~ 

Lance comes to see Justin the next day, and Justin's eating banana bread his mother made for him, munching quietly as Lance puts the coffee on, tidying up Justin's messes. He pours two cups and leaves them both black, plain. The house is quiet. 

"So," Lance says in his deep, manly voice, "you told him." 

"No," Justin whispers, "not with words." 

Lance smiles sadly and nods. "Still not good at the words, are you?" And Justin shakes his head no because he really isn't. Lance sips his coffee, forehead wrinkled with wisdom. "Listen, Justin. Just say it. You don't have to crucify yourself over this. Stop hating so much." 

Justin closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders, hunched over, and Lance stands behind him and rubs his back, understanding in ways only Lance can because Lance knows what it feels like to see with open eyes. Lance wanted, once, to disappear, too. 

That's how they know about each other; that's how the secret came out in the first place. 

~~~ 

Justin's high and drunk, and he's feeling brave. He's remembered his key, and he walks into JC's house, tall as the sky and four times as bright. Inside, he's strumming, and he feels dangerously alive, like he's either going to get it all or lose the world. 

JC's in his room, and he looks up when Justin enters. Justin marches right on over and stops in front of him, shrinking with every pensive look JC gives him. Kneeling, Justin leans over and presses his face to JC's flat belly. 

"I love you," Justin whispers, "I love you." 

"I know." JC touches his hands to Justin's head, and Justin looks up, eyes red as sin. Suddenly, he feels sick, but if he moves, he'll never come back, so he stays and feels the hate rush over him like water. "I know." 

"No," Justin whispers, "you don't." 

JC shifts and slides to the floor, so skinny he slips through Justin's arms and leans forward immediately, so Justin can't run away, and kisses him deeply, like they kissed once, when they were young and not sure of themselves. "I always knew." 

"No," Justin whispers, "you didn't." 

JC lifts him to the bed, and they kiss again, slowly this time to savour the taste of each other's mouths in fear they will lose it again. When JC puts his hands under Justin's shirt, Justin shivers and lets JC peel it from his body. JC's lips are soft and ticklish on his skin, and Justin watches, thinking it obscene the way his hips roll to JC's hand, which is holding Justin between his legs and rubbing firmly. 

"Oh," Justin says, "oh," when JC tugs off his pants and laves the soft flesh between Justin's legs with a wet tongue. Justin writhes and shakes, his fists to his mouth to stop the screams. He is supposed to hate this. 

Later, Justin touches JC tentatively, in the way he couldn't years ago when they first kissed, mutually afraid of this strange boy-love they felt. JC stretches his body, pulling his belly taut, and Justin licks until JC sings and paints sex. Justin thinks it's probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he falls asleep remembering how JC looked in that moment. 

The art of disappearing only works with closed eyes.


End file.
